


bend it back, smooth it out

by b_o_i



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Choking, Dirty Talk, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Homophobia, Humiliation, M/M, Slut Shaming, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-25 13:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18262517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_o_i/pseuds/b_o_i
Summary: “You want men to desire you?” He continues, ignoring Klaus’ protest, “Fine. I’ll give you exactly what you want.”At this point he’s circled back to the door, and Klaus is suddenly very aware of how far into the room he is — in the center, alone, with Dad’s... friends closer to him than he is to the door. He suddenly doesn’t feel safe.





	bend it back, smooth it out

**Author's Note:**

> based on the kinkmeme prompt:  
> "Teen Klaus (16-19) doesn't care about Reginald's punishments which he administers every time he catches Number Four in make-up, heels or fawning over a boy/male celebrity crush. He decides if Klaus wants to be a girly, queer little slut desperate for men to desire him then fine: he'll give Klaus exactly what he wants. He invites over some powerful friends and lets them have their way with his teenage son. I'd love there to be an afterwards scene with Reginald being extremely cold, gross and brutal with a super traumatised, broken Klaus. Not necessarily sexual, but a "isn't this what you wanted?", mocking type of scenario."
> 
> me, finally watching tua and immediately zeroing in on klaus: god, i'm gonna be so fucking mean to u
> 
> as usual, read the tags.

 

Klaus likes men. He likes women too, of course, but he likes men a lot. At sixteen, he likes tacking up band posters and talking about hot celebrities with Allison or Diego or anyone who will listen, and he likes wearing Mom’s heels and he likes wearing crop tops and he likes doing all these things despite how many times his father punishes him for it.  
  
Which is a lot. It just doesn’t stick, is the thing, because Klaus is who he is, and there’s nothing a few joint or pills can’t solve after a couple hours in the mausoleum. So when his dad takes him from his room and says to come with him, Klaus assumes that’s where they’re going.  
  
Instead of leading him outside, though, Dad leads him further into the house, to a bedroom that might belong to Dad and might belong to no one, but definitely doesn’t belong to Klaus. When he opens the door, there are three men, all strangers, waiting inside.  
  
Klaus blinks, surprised, but follows his dad into the room.  
  
“Um,” he says, and pulls self-consciously at the sparkly crop top he stole from Allison when one of the strangers, a man with a mustache, keeps his eyes trained on that small strip of skin for a moment too long. “Who’re these guys?”  
  
“Friends of mine,” Dad says, and Klaus almost laughs, because he didn’t known someone like Dad could even have friends. “They’re here to help with our lesson, today.”  
  
“Our... lesson?” Klaus repeats, getting more and more confused and uncomfortable by the minute.  
  
“The way you’ve been acting,” Dad starts, and Klaus would roll his eyes if there weren’t three unfamiliar pairs trained on him already, “Is unacceptable. I’ve tried, repeatedly, to get you to come to your senses and stop acting like a fool, but I’ve come to realize that it simply is not working. So, I’ve decided to try a different approach.”  
  
There’s a pit of some unknown dread in Klaus’ chest, and part of him feels like he needs to run.  
  
“You want to be a queer, Number Four?” His father continues, and the disgust in his voice when he says the word makes Klaus flinch back in shock, “You want to be a _slut_?”  
  
“N-No,” he stutters out, embarrassed to be spoke to like this in front of all these grown up strangers.  
  
“You want men to desire you?” He continues, ignoring Klaus’ protest, “Fine. I’ll give you exactly what you want.”  
  
At this point he’s circled back to the door, and Klaus is suddenly very aware of how far into the room he is — in the center, alone, with Dad’s... friends closer to him than he is to the door. He suddenly doesn’t feel safe.  
  
“What?” He asks, ashamed of how his voice cracks.  
  
“I will be back in one hour,” Dad says. “Do try to behave yourself for once.”  
  
Before Klaus can even think, the bedroom door is sliding shut, and he hears the lock click a moment later. Klaus has the distinct feeling that he’s been thrown to the wolves. He’s verging on afraid now, turning to glance back at his father’s friends — who are all looking at him, like they’re waiting for him to make the first move. He turns back to look at the door — he’s closer to the door than they are, but they’re also closer to him than he is to the door. And the door is locked. Maybe he can kick it down? Maybe if he yells, Diego or someone will hear him.  
  
He swallows, mind made up, and makes a break for it.  
  
He doesn’t get very far. One of them gets an arm around his chest and yanks him back — he screams, instinctually, and one of them claps a hand over his mouth. He bites down hard, and the man curses, letting it drop.  
  
“Dad!” Klaus yells, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever yelled louder in his life, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please I’m sorry! Dad! Dad!” 

His dad does not answer. He doesn’t open the door. Klaus wonders if maybe he’s left completely. If he’s gone to his office or out to supervise someone’s training — he thinks Ben is training today, or maybe Diego, and he yells for them too, unthinkingly.  
  
Nobody comes, because nobody hears him. Maybe they do, and they just don’t care. Klaus doesn’t know. He doesn’t known anything other than the fact that his belt is being undone and his shirt is being pushed up — he thrashes blindly, and it does nothing.  
  
Someone grabs him by the hips and pulls him back; his heart jumps at the feeling of something warm and hard and solid pressed up against his ass — maybe under a different circumstance it would excite him, knowing he did that to someone, but right now it’s just... scary. It’s scary. The man who has him by the hips presses his mouth against Klaus’ ear, and his stubble — moustach guy — scraps against the skin of his neck.  
  
“Your daddy said you want attention,” he says, making Klaus shiver, “You feel this? This is what a real man’s attention feels like.”  
  
Klaus tries to jerk away, and the man just holds him tighter, thrusting his hips against Klaus’ ass and shoving a hand down the front of his shorts. He tries to push back, tries to elbow him, but someone else grabs his arms and then he’s on the floor, the wood paneling hard against his knees.  
  
One of the men — this one has glasses, Klaus notices vaguely — gets a hand in his hair and wrenches his head back. “Klaus,” he says, “That’s your name, right? Klaus?”  
  
He shakes him by the hair when he doesn’t answer the first time, so Klaus chokes out a angry, “Yes.”  
  
“ _Klaus_ ,” the glasses guy says again, and usually Klaus likes hearing other people say his name like that but right now it just feels wrong, feels bad, feels like a mockery, “Your father said you like dick. Is that right?”  
  
Klaus blinks in shock, because he could _never_ imagine his dad saying it like that, “I-I don’t—“  
  
“He said that you want men to want you; that you’re a whore for attention. And he said we’re free to give it to you.” He drags his head forwards, pressing Klaus’ cheek against the bulge in his pants. “You feel that? I’m going to unzip my pants, and I want you to open your pretty little mouth and suck my dick. Can you do that for me?”  
  
Klaus squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want to do that. The man unzips his pants anyways, and takes out his dick, and Klaus tries to get up but the man with the mustache grabs him by the wrist and the glasses man says that if he bites, he’ll make damn sure he regrets it.  
  
This completely and utter fucking stranger — no, he thinks suddenly, not a total stranger. He’s seen him before, at a fancy, official dinner or two. He always seemed nice, and now here he is, a hand in Klaus’ hair, shoving his cock down Klaus’ throat and barely letting him up to breathe.  
  
“Make this good for me,” he warns, “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your father — I was paid a lot to be here.”  
  
“He didn’t have to pay me at all,” the man with the moustach says. Klaus feels his eyes water, and he squeezes them shut.  
  
“Keep your throat open,” the man with the glasses says, voice shaky in a way that makes Klaus hope he’ll finish soon so this can just be over, “You wanna be a slut? I’ll teach you how.”  
  
When he cums, he holds Klaus’ head to keep him in place and shoots off down his throat. Klaus coughs and sputters when he’s finally let up, tears rolling down his face. He was scared he was gonna pass out — he’s reeling from it, and the last bit of the man’s cum pulses out onto his cheek, and it’s warm and he feels so small and so alone and so fucking terrified.  
  
They don’t let him sit still for long. The man with the moustach yanks him up and drags him towards the bed. Klaus thrashes around with a new found strength — he’s never done this part, he’s never gotten this far, he doesn’t want it to be like this.  
  
“Wait,” Klaus says, trying and failing to scramble up as the man presses him into the bed, mind grasping for anything that will make this stop, “W-Wait, please, I just. I can. I can suck you off, or, or something, I’ll make it good, I just—“  
  
“Hargreeves didn’t say you were a virgin.”  
  
Klaus’ heart skips a beat. Dead center. “I’m not,” he defends weakly.  
  
“Oh, I can tell you’ve sucked plenty of cock, boy. But you haven’t been fucked yet, have you?”  
  
Klaus opens his mouth to disagree, but can’t seem to find the words. He’s struck, suddenly, by how fucked up this is right now. He doesn’t know this man, but this man is here, asking about his virginity, because his father asked him to. His father asked these men to come and fuck him. To come and — and rape him. The thought makes panic crawl into his throat — his father wants these men to rape him, and one of them already has, the evidence drying on his skin.  
  
The man takes his silence as a yes, and then his hand are everywhere — pressing his wrists into the bed, grabbing at his shirt, his shorts, pulling them down and up and keeping him pinned all at the same time and Klaus can barely keep up with him.  
  
The man’s hand around his throat and his shorts on the floor and his crop top bunched up under his arms. The man’s hand traces over the seam of Klaus’ underwear, traces down his shaking thigh and hem of one of his knee high socks.  
  
“I do like the knee-highs,” the man comments, voice low with arousal, so heavy it makes Klaus’ heart beat faster, “Makes you look a little dream. Pretty little boy, just dying for it. So needy your father had to call us in to help you.”  
  
Dad didn’t even have to pay this one, he remembers him saying. He came all on his own time. Somehow, that humiliates Klaus more than someone fucking him for money. This sicko actively wants to fuck him. It makes Klaus nauseous, makes him want to cry.  
  
Klaus tries to buck up, so the man grabs his hips and flips him over. He presses Klaus’ face into the mattress and says “I’m gonna fuck you, now, boy. You won’t need any more attention once I’m done with you.”  
  
It hurts. The man only uses his spit and precum as lube, shoving his fingers in and twisting them around and making Klaus cry out. He’s done this to himself, a few times, but it’s never felt like this. When the man holds his hips in place and starts pressing inside, Klaus panics.  
  
“Wait,” He says, “Wait wait wait no, no no no please—please, wait, I don’t—oh, god, please—“  
  
But the man doesn’t wait, and the man doesn’t stop, and he reaches around to get a hand over Klaus’ mouth when he screams in pain.  
  
“Shh,” he breathes, his body pressed up against Klaus’ and his hot cock buried inside him, “It’s okay. Pretty little thing, huh? Just take it, that’s it—it’ll hurt less if you just relax.”  
  
It doesn’t. Hurt less, that is. But, to his mounting horror, it does start to feel a little better. The man pulls his hips up enough that he can get his knees under him, and he hits something deep inside him that has Klaus choking out a sob as a tiny bit of pleasure shoots up his spine.  
  
“There you go,” the man says, and does his best to hit that spot as he fucks him — in and out and in and out and inandout until Klaus can’t do anything but grasp at the sheets below him and wait for it to end.  
  
It does end, eventually, but not until the man holds him still and cums inside him, making Klaus start crying all over again at the fucking humiliation of it all. He’s better than this, he is, he is. He doesn’t deserve this, does he? Everything hurts but his dick is hard, and the man pulls out and then manhandles him onto his back and then jerks him off, slow and steady, getting a hand around his neck when he tries to crawl away. He cuts off his air supply until Klaus is sure he’s passing out, and then let up just in time to make sure he doesn’t — and the air filling his lungs again feels great, feels like heaven, and then he can’t breathe again and then he can and then he can’t and he finally tips over the edge as he gasps for air a third time, crying and choking and feeling like an absolute fucking slut.  
  
The third man kneels above him on the bed. Runs his hands through Klaus’ hair and holds his head in place while he jerks off — runs the tip of his weeping dick across Klaus’ lips, his cheeks, his chin, smearing it in like he owns him, like he wants to mark him up and possess him — like he wants him, desires him, and the thought - his father’s words - makes him choke out a weak sob. The man cums all over his face, bits of it catching in his hair, and laughs as he does it.  
  
The hour must be almost up, by then, or maybe time passes and he just doesn’t notice, because then the men are buttoning up their shirts and zipping up their pants and leaving him sprawled out and used up on the bed. He grabs at a sheet, pulling it up to cover as much of himself as he can, and flinches as he hears the door swing open.  
  
“Gentlemen,” his father says, voice as monotone and professional as it always is, “I hope your hour was well spent.”  
  
There are words exchanged that Klaus tunes out for, hyperaware of the open door and the way his shorts and underwear are still bunched up on the floor.  
  
He hear the door click shut. Silence, and then his father’s footsteps, approaching the bed. Somehow, for some ungodly reason, Klaus is more afraid right now, of his father, after the fact, than he was of any of the men who raped him.  
  
“Number Four,” He says, voice sharp and commanding, making him jump, “Sit up.”  
  
Klaus doesn’t move; barely dares to breathe.  
  
“Number Four,” again, and he sounds angry, so Klaus ignores the way pain shoots up his spine as he pushes himself up.  
  
The sheet pools around his naked waist; the crop top is the only thing he has left, and it leaves him feeling more exposed than it ever has before.  
  
“Look at me.” He says, and Klaus doesn’t want to. He keeps his eyes down, until Dad’s fingers grasp his chin and force his head up. He looks so... so disgusted. So disgusted that it makes Klaus want to cry — makes rebellious tears gather in his eyes. “What on earth could you be upset about. Is this not what you wanted?”  
  
Klaus shakes his head; he can’t get the words out, and doesn’t even know what he would say if he could.  
  
“No?” Dad raises a mocking eyebrow. “You wanted their desire. And you got it — there’s proof of their _attention_ all over you.” He says the words so fucking cold, tilting his head to the side like he’s showing the cum drying on Klaus’ face to some imaginary audience. If there’s one thing Klaus can’t stand to do in front of their father after all these years, it’s crying. But his father looks at him like he’s revolted by what he sees and Klaus can’t fucking help it — he bursts into tears.  
  
“Don’t prance around, acting like a slut, if that isn’t how you wish to be treated. Do you still want attention, Number Four? Do you want all men’s attention? Do you want _my_ attention?” And that — the feeling of his dad’s breathe on his skin, the threat lingering in the air — is enough to break him.  
  
“ _No_ ,” He gasps, pressing his hands to his mouth to keep himself from crying too loudly, “No. No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Dad, I’m sorry.”  
  
Dad looks at him a moment longer, gaze boring into Klaus’ bare skin and the blood soaked sheets. “Your siblings’ training is almost complete. Go clean up before any of them catch you like this.”  
  
And then he’s gone.  
  
Klaus takes the longest bath of his life — scrubs himself clean until his skin is raw, trying to wash away all those nasty mens’ touches, their voices, the way they looked at him and the way his father looked at him. There are hand prints around his neck and curling around his hips. He feels used, and so fucking ashamed.  
  
He throws away his knee high socks, trashes his posters, and hides Allison’s borrowed crop top in the back of his dresser.

 


End file.
